Z is for zero

It's the end of the countdown when you reach zero. It's the point when things happen: we have lift-off. It's the the end of something and the beginning of something else. At least, that's what you hope. But sometimes zero is simply zero. The end of the journey. No more.

And this is the last post of the Blogging from A to Z April Challenge. It's been an interesting month. I've written about things that I never have before. I visited a lot of blogs I had never visited before. I had to scramble many times to figure a post that went with the letter, but I did. All in all, despite how it pushed my schedule in ridiculous ways I'll have to recover from, I've enjoyed the experience.

Will I participate next year? A definite maybe. Thank you all for reading and for your support.

Lift-off.

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

Y is for yarraman

It's an old word. It means "horse." It's from a native Australian language. I don't know if it's still used. I hope so. I'd like to think old languages survive somehow, although scientists report that many
languages are disappearing quickly. Soon we will speak English, Spanish, or Chinese. Or actually someday that will happen. Probably not in my lifetime.

There's wisdom in old languages. Old mysteries. Wisdom that may no longer apply, but we won't know unless we learn the language and preserve it. Those old words give us old stories. And stories are always important. We know a people by their stories, their myths, and their dreams.

No one really cares about old languages. Oh, there are scientists and linguists who are racing to preserve what they can, but there are no telethons or Congressional pushes to give them money. They do what they can, but mostly they watch helplessly as the old stories disappear.

And it's a loss for all of us.

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

X marks the spot

When I was a kid, I'd read about pirates and their buried treasures, and it seemed grand. The high seas, the gold and jewels, the pitched battles, and those maps where X marks the spot ... all combined in a glorious myth. What little boy didn't want to be a pirate at some time in his life?

Of course, the truth was much different. Their lives were short and brutal. They murdered people. They were uneducated and smelly. They had personal habits that would embarrass a rabid pig. They didn't have a heart of gold, and X never marked the spot.

So few dreams survive into adulthood. At least not in the sense that we can believe they are real. Unrelenting reality beats dreams down, mugs them in an alley, and leaves them for dead in a ditch by the side of a road. I don't know how we make it when so many of our dreams can't survive the harsh light of day. We're fairly irrational people, we humans, and somehow we muddle through our daily routines. We get up and go to work and give up our dreams or try to force them on our children. If we're miserable, we think it's nothing more than we deserve for our crime of being born.

But I hope that maybe in our heart of hearts, we still believe. Maybe in our secret fantasies, pirates sail the high seas and rescue beautiful princesses and fight the good fight against oppressive governments. Maybe we  pit our wits and strength against the unforgiving storms. Maybe we stand at the bow, shouting our wild and glorious defiance at the raging ocean. And we win.

Maybe in our heart of hearts, X still marks the spot.

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

W is for waver

Ever waver? You know what's right, you know what you should do, but you waver. The cost seems too high; the opposition seems too strong. So you give way. You keep quiet. You watch from the sidelines as an injustice is visited upon the innocent. You justify it. You forget it. You bury it.

You should know better. Some things won't stay buried. One-time injustices turn into many-times injustices. And if you finally make your stand, the cost will be higher, the opposition that much stronger. Of course, you don't have to make a stand. You can stay silent. You can go down into your grave with your words locked in your throat.
 
The most they will say about you is: "He wavered. She didn't rock the boat. Nice quiet people." And then you'll be forgotten.

Get. Off. Your. Lazy. Ass. And fight for the right. You can do it. There are lot of us doing it. And if you're good at it, you'll make the world -- or at least your part of it -- better for you having been here. That's a good epitaph.

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

V is for viper

Ever know someone like that? Viper tongue and not afraid to use it. Supremely confident of their right to cut someone down to size with the appropriately vicious comment. Never do they imagine that they're busy removing a mote from their victim's eye while ignoring the huge pole in theirs. It takes a special kind of smallness to speak without kindness. To lay waste just because you can. It took me so many years to realize that being kind was the true power. Any pig can be snarky and smug. Any lout can be loud and mean.

But to be kind ... to try to look beyond a person's faults and mistakes and find their good qualities ... to be more than lip service to the idea of compassion ... that's hard. That's what we should strive for. It's not as much fun, it's not as smart, it's not smug, it's not as ego boosting ... but it's how we humans could be if we were willing to work on it. If we were willing to bend.

If kindness wasn't such a bad taste on our viper lips.

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

U is for ubiquitous

"Ubiquitous" is the favorite word of one of my friends. She says it's fun to say, but hard to spell, and it's such a useful word. Webster's defines it as: existing or being everywhere at the same time : constantly encountered : widespread. Cell phones are ubiquitous. Cars are ubiquitous. Fast food restaurants are ubiquitous. Mosquitoes are ubiquitous. You get the point.

I don't think ubiquitous carries any negative connotations. It would be nice if being kind was ubiquitous. Generosity, kindness, compassion ... the world would be a much better place if they were ubiquitous.

It is fun to say, although I'd wonder if someone said it repeatedly in the same conversation. In other words, ubiquitous shouldn't be ubiquitous.

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

T is for time

Lately, I seem to running out of time. Or at least hours in day. I have a crazy schedule and will have until the end of November, when my life should get back to what I laughingly call "normal."

Here's what I have coming up:

July 30th or before: Publication of my book "Murder by the Mile."
August: Book signings and publicity for "Murder by the Mile" AND the publication of "Creations: 34 Ways to Look at Love," the latest anthology by Ada Writers.
September 1st: Publication of my book "Undying: Poems of Fantasy and Science Fiction" AND book signings and publicity for "Murder by the Mile," "Undying," and "Creations: 34 Ways to Look at Love."
October: Book signings and publicity for "Murder by the Mile," "Undying," and "Creations: 34 Ways to Look at Love."
November: Tentative publication date of Gail Wood's book: "Red Bird Woman." This is a collection of her poetry. This will be published by Many Rivers Harbor.
December: A mini book fair at Karen's Art & Framing (during the first week of December) where various local writers will set up a book table and help people get a leg-n their Christmas shopping. What better gift than a signed book from a local author? This is still in the early planning stages, but I think it's a go right now.

Anyway, as you can see, my plate is full. Heaping. Overflowing even. Got to stay focused. But one thing that is on the plan that I should mention now: I plan on having a nervous breakdown as soon as the book fair is over. Just thought you should know.

S is for Supernatural

Yes, Supernatural. That show with Dean and Sam. I confess to being a fan. It reminds me of Buffy The Vampire Slayer, but in a way, it's more realistic and grounded ... if you can apply that to a show about vampires, demons, witches, ghosts, ghouls, etc. I confess I'd like a bit more humor and a bit less angst, but the writers do a good job. Although ... exactly how many times will Dean and Sam be killed and brought back? That's a story line that the writers have drained dry. Time for a new narrative ... or new writers. And could they get a girlfriend or two that doesn't end up dead or isn't revealed to be a demon or some other nasty creature?

Still, those quibbles aside, I'm still watching. Eight seasons later. I hope they go on for eight more.

R is for randy

I once had a randy friend. I met him in my third year in college. And when I say randy, I mean he was always ready for sex. Always. I had never met anyone like him. Never have since. He slept with women and men. He had threesomes and foursomes and once participated in a group.

He was happy about it. By all accounts -- well, his lovers that I know -- he was an enthusiastic lover. A caring lover. And he made sure his partner enjoyed the experience.

He was always careful to tell them that he liked them, but didn't love them. Sex was separate from his heart. He loved them, but he didn't love them.

He would wander back in the dorm after having spent a night out, and he'd always be wearing a smile. He'd grin bashfully if anyone asked how his night went, and he always answered, "Awesome!" I used to talk to him about God. He called me "the Preacher," a nickname that I didn't deserve. 

I don't know how his life would have worked out if his behavior had continued after college -- I would guess messy and sad -- but life wasn't going to work out that way. On his way home from OSU, he was in a wreck. He survived, but his injuries were terribly severe. It took nearly a year, but eventually -- after another surgery to repair his spine -- he passed away.

I went to his funeral. He was the first of my college friends to pass away, but sadly enough, he wouldn't be the last. A group of girls and guys were there -- I was surprised at the identities of some of his former lovers -- and they were all grieving. I think his parents didn't know what to make of those guys who wept heart-broken over his coffin.

The minister said a few words, we sang a few songs, and then that was the end of him except in memory. And I do remember him.

I once had a randy friend. 

Q is for quiet

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE. It's also part of National Poetry Writing Month. Learn more about NaPoWriMo HERE.)

Twilight Grace

We drift now in the quiet space,
the black between the stars,
Engines torn away months ago
by an errant cosmic string
or some unexpected particle.

No rescue possible. No engines, no
highspace communications. Command
cannot find us. In this vast empiness,
another warpship lighting on this tiny
point of nothing beggars imagination.

Most of the crew now dead or missing.
The doctor drank poison; captain
fled to his quarters with a bottle.
The engineer nurses our life support;
he says mad things about what he sees.

I wander the arboretum ring. Alone
except for the green plants whose
names I never learned. I touch their
leaves. I water the green rows.
The flowers turn blind faces.

This is the last log of the warpship
Twilight Grace. Listen oh listen
to me. At times, I can hear moans,
shuffling footsteps in the corridors;
but no one answers when I call ...

(Copyright 2013 by Stephen B. Bagley.  From the forthcoming Undying: Poems of Fantasy & Science Fiction. All rights reserved. No copying without express written permission.)

Alien by the Atlanta Rhythm Section

One of my favorite songs despite it hitting too close to home at times.

Books

(This is part of National Poetry Writing Month. Learn more about NaPoWriMo HERE.)

Books

Humans think they write us.
With type and sweat,
they pour their energy
into the stories we give
to fevered imaginations.

Some of them break --
not all livestock is meant
for the long run --
but a few of them write,
write, and write more.

They pour themselves
into our worlds,
rapt at new horizons
and as they stare,
transfixed, we feed.

Page after page, chapter
by chapter, we drain
them dry as we have
since we came to this
world on literatureships.

If they knew, they'd think
we defined symbiotic, but
we know ... wait, someone
starts a thousand page
epic. So so so sweet ...

(Copyright 2013 by Stephen B. Bagley. From Undying: Poems of Fantasy and Science Fiction. All rights reserved. No copying without express permission. Thank you for reading.)

P is for perfect

PERFECT

Once there was a perfect boy
who made perfect grades,
enjoyed perfect friends,
dated a perfect girl,
and lived a perfect life.

He grew into a perfect man
who had a perfect job,
raised perfect children,
resided in a perfect home,
and loved a perfect wife.

So we were perfectly shocked
when this perfect man
bought a perfect gun,
wrote a perfect note,
and killed himself one perfect night.

(Copyright 2013 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved. No copying without express written permission.)

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE. It's also part of National Poetry Writing Month. Learn more about NaPoWriMo HERE.)

O is for Open All NIght

I often feel my muse was born under the sign: Open All Night. She -- and it has to be a woman because only women drive me this crazy -- is quite willing to shoot my idea at three in the morning, but let it be a decent hour in the day and she's sleeping in. If I attempt to wake her, she glares at me with bloodshot eyes and throws a bottle at me.

I don't know how this happened. I've never been a night person. I like to get 14 hours a sleep a night. People have even wondered if I had sleeping sickness. Why oh why would I be charged with energy starting at midnight?

I'm told it has to do with biorhythms. Apparently I have the biorhythm of a bluesy jazz singer from a New Orleans speakeasy. I didn't use to. I don't know what happened. It probably has to do with sunspots. Or chemicals in our food. Maybe the CIA or ancient aliens, whichever of those you believe exists. I would even suspect Bigfoot, but he's such a nice guy.

So there I am. Up at night. Blearily typing. Think of me as you dream, you lucky devils.

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

N is for nowhere in particular

Did you ever get the urge to run away? Nowhere in particular, just somewhere else. Maybe a distant city where you'd start a new life without all the history that weighs you down, holds you back, all those expectations that you can't meet or that you can but don't want to any longer.

Maybe you even make plans. Maybe not real plans. But you pick up brochures at the travel agent. Google a city you might like. Consider who you'd tell your new address. Wonder where you would work. What your new job would be and how you'd find new friends. Friends who would be different, friends who didn't know your failures and follies. Friends who would wholeheartedly support you.

And of course, the new location changes you. You're braver. Smarter. Funnier. Kinder. Capable. Cherished. You finally become the person you've always thought you could be. You find a new love.

Yes, a new love. Someone who would love you as much as you loved. Maybe even more. Maybe you'd be the needed one. Romantic dinners. Walks at night on the beach or picnics in the park or a stroll across a flower filled meadow.

It's all very lovely. Only one thing -- one person -- mars this picture. Because you know -- you know -- that you carry all your hurts and insecurities and pain with you. You'd seek out a different dead-end job and find friends who would take more than they gave and a new love who would treat you like the old one did.

You throw away the brochures. Shut down the computer. Turn on the TV. That's how it always ends.

But maybe not this time. Maybe this time you pack a suitcase. You hail a taxi and hop on a plane. And as it climbs into the sky, you leave all those old sorrows behind and soar away into a new glorious life. Maybe that's what will happen this time.

Maybe.

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

EndlesS

(I actually published this poem in my book EndlesS back in 2008, but I couldn't resist reworking some of the lines to better reflect what I mean. I guess I never really stop revising a poem. This poem is part of National Poetry Writing Month in which we write 30 poems in 30 days. Learn more about NaPoWriMo HERE.)

EndlesS

black in the sky black sound in the mouths of those who stare blindly

at spiraling void descending on jagged wings soundless screams

swallowed by endless hunger the awful infinity of the void

requires our presence in the last dance Hawkings

would approve as the events of our lives

vanish beyond the horizon spiraling

down into eternity beyond

which we cannot see

divide by zero

divide by

zero

o

oh the

stars are like

a thousand diamonds

but I see your face and laugh

I kiss your face and laugh and angels

dance on pins skies pour forth blinding light

powers move upon the deep and the seraphim sing

as we hurl ourcometselves together bodies feeding glowing

hunger gasps your hands grab my back burn through pain sorrow

we’re falling flying soaring shouting exclaiming rejoicing sigh breathe

and you turn to me fully alive as only you can be and say let’s fall in again

(Copyright 2013 by Stephen B. Bagley. First published in EndlesS. Revision from the forthcoming Undying: Poems of Fantasy and Science Fiction. No copying without express prior permission. Thank you for reading.)

A Leaving Dream

(I'm enjoying National Poetry Writing Month, where the participants write 30 poems in 30 days. Here's my poem for the 15th day Learn more about NaPoWriMo HERE.)

A Leaving Dream

She always had that dream
of leaving. Someday she'd walk
away from her life and start
anew in a distant city of light.
Ads from a travel daemon littered
her tablet. Links to exotic places.
The plains of Mars or the oceans
of terraformed Venus. Maybe
the comet cloud resorts resting
on the edge of the solar system
where the privileged skied
on ice formed when time
had barely begun to count.
Anywhere had to be better
than Lunar City Seventeen.

And she'd find new brave friends.
Friends who would support her
wholeheartedly and give more
than they took. And a new love.
A new lover who would love
her more than she loved him,
who would cherish her as if she
carried within her his reason for
being born and continuing to live.
She always had this dream
of leaving, but her courage failed
every time. Every time turned
into maybe this time. Until
one day they found her loft empty.
Only a forwarding daemon pointing
to Olympus Mons -- and beyond.

(Copyright 2013 by Stephen B. Bagley. From Undying: Poems of Fantasy and Science Fiction. No copying without express prior permission. Thank you for reading.)

M is for murder

Of my two (so far) murder mysteries, I had the most fun writing Murder by the Acre, the sequel to Murder by Dewey Decimal. The characters were easier to handle, the townspeople more real, the dialogue funnier and more realistic at the same time. And I think the relationship between Bernard and Lisa "worked" this time while it was a bit dodgy the first time around. I actually didn't intend for Bernard and Lisa to get together -- Lisa was meant for Sims -- but that's how it worked out in Murder by Dewey Decimal, and the story was better for it. But it made a lot of work for me.

People ask me why I write murder mysteries. I think they think it's because I have some dark impulses. Maybe I do, but the real reason I write them is because I like the puzzles they present and I like to see justice win. Those are the books I like to read, so they're the ones I like to write. It's that simple.

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

Space Shuttle Reference Manual

(Besides participating in the 2013 Blogging A to Z April Challenge, I'm also participating in National Poetry Writing Month. In NaPoWriMo, I'm to write a poem a day for the whole month. Here is the poem for the 14th day.)

Space Shuttle Reference Manual

T minus 10, "go for main engine start" issues.
Flares ignite and burn away residual hydrogen.
A half second later, computers open valves.
(We have only breaths to consider.)
Liquid hydrogen and oxygen feed the turbopumps.
T minus 6.6, main engines ignite at intervals.
Engines throttle up to 90 percent in 3 seconds.
(If we had regrets, the time has passed.)
At T minus 3, ignition sequence begins.
At T minus zero, holddown explosive bolts
and umbilical explosive bolts blow.
We are completely committed.
Solid rocket boosters ignite. The beast roars.
The shuttle climbs into the golden sky.
Empty boosters fall in the azure ocean.
Gravity holds us until we are finally free.

(Copyright 2013 by Stephen B. Bagley. From Undying: Poems of Fantasy & Science Fiction. No copying without express prior permission. Thank you for reading.)

L is for lost

(This post is part of the 2013 Blogging From A to Z April Challenge. Learn more about the Challenge HERE.)

I've been lost before. Not in the physical sense. That has happened rarely in my life. But in the emotional sense. In the spiritual sense. In the life sense. Yes, I've had that happen more often than I'm comfortable admitting.

The situation is always the same. I think I know where I'm going and what I'm doing, and then something unexpected happens. It's never a happy something. And it jars me, forces my head up, and I look around and realize I'm lost. Somehow my decisions led me to an unknown place, and I'm confronting choices I don't want to choose. Or -- and this is more common -- I find I have no choices at all. I have to follow a path that's only going to end badly. It's like being in a slow train wreck, and you can't jump off or stop the train or save yourself. All you can do is wait for the collusion.

Of course, I've lived long enough to know that sometimes the wreck doesn't happen. We can't control events, and the train can veer off or stop. You're saved. It happens.

If you're lost, then I can give you this advice: Do your best to get found. Keep hope. Just as you didn't expect the events that led to being lost, events can happen to save you.

And if not, well ... stay tough. Survive. Learn. Grow. Get up and go on. That's all you can do.